


Announcements

by LovelyPlantPrincess



Series: Live a Little [4]
Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Blood and Gore, Discussion of Abortion, F/M, Fear of Death, Implied/Referenced Daddy Kink, Implied/Referenced Murder, Mentions of Cancer, Nosocomephobia, Teen Pregnancy, Thanatophobia, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 05:52:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6643963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovelyPlantPrincess/pseuds/LovelyPlantPrincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Apparently, Gemma has an announcement to make. And it's a big one.</p><p>Ladies and gentlemen, you're gonna want to take a seat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Announcements

**Gemma Morrow nee Madock**  
Part I  


Gemma wakes up early one Saturday morning, tucked tightly under her husband’s tight grip and woken by the sudden urge to vomit. Tossing Clay’s arm and the blankets off of her, she rushes as quickly as possible to the washroom adjoining their bedroom. She barely has time to lift the toilet seat before the contents of her stomach are burning their way back up her throat - different concoctions of alcohol and bar pretzels. Sometime after she makes it into the bathroom, she feels the tendrils of her hair leave the nape of her neck and Clay’s fingers tickle at the skin there. His other hand rubs soothing circles into her back, his way of telling her that he’s there for her.

Gemma dry heaves for a little while after her stomach is emptied, before slumping against Clay’s warm chest and trying to catch her breath. Her husband’s free arm encircles her waist and he shifts them both so that his back is against the bathtub and she’s resting between his legs. The sound of the toilet flushing is distant and drowned out in Gemma’s ears, but she watches with half-lidded eyes as the mess of her stomach disappears. She can feel an oncoming migraine and exhaustion begins to hit her in waves - the middle of the night grog paired with the retching was beginning to wear it’s effect.

“You okay?” he asks quietly, finally releasing her hair and pressing a gentle kiss to the side of her neck. She nods and hums lightly as he brushes her bangs away from her eyes - the tenderness rare and very welcome. “What was all that?”

“I don’t know,” Gemma admits truthfully. The vomiting was new - she hadn’t been throwing up before tonight. “Wasn’t the liquor - I didn’t drink _that_ much. Maybe it’s me being sick to my stomach with worry over _you_.”

She’s referring to the shit with the Mayans. Clay was gone from the house more often than not, and when he did manage to find time to come back to the house, he was almost always covered in blood - it was a toss-up on whether or not it’d be his. It had been alright - nothing that she wasn’t used to - until Tig and Otto rung her up early one morning and told her to meet them at St. Thomas. Clay had a slug in his left thigh and could’ve bled out on the operating table if they hadn’t gotten him to the hospital when they did.

Heat was coming down hard on the Club, and her small little family had been facing the consequences of it.

“I’ll be fine, babe. I always am,” he assures, drawing her away from her thoughts. She nods her head - not in the mood to rekindle the argument they had earlier about this very topic, and tired from draining her stomach. She’s tempted to fall asleep there, sitting against her husband’s chest on the floor of their bathroom. But he shakes her shoulder eventually, startling her from dozing off. “Can you stand?”

“Yeah,” she replies, although she’s not quite sure.

“Wash your mouth out with water - you don’t want that gross taste in your mouth when you wake up,” Clay says, patting her thigh gently. Gemma remains pressed against his chest for a few more moments before standing and going to the sink to do as told. The water washes the acidic taste of bile from her mouth, and is cooling when she splashes it against her face. It makes her feel much better than she did originally.

Clay disappears from the bathroom for a bit while she’s at the sink, but then returns with one of his shirts. She opens her mouth with confusion, but then looks down at her negligee and finds that some vomit had made it’s way down the bosom of it. She wrinkles her nose with disgust and accepts the shirt from his fingers.

Once freshly changed into his shirt and back in bed, Gemma and Clay curl against each other - Gemma being the little spoon and Clay being the big one. Subconsciously, Clay laces their fingers together over her stomach and Gemma runs her thumb over the back of his hand.

“I want you to go to the doctor tomorrow,” he says after a while of laying in silence. “Make sure it’s not the flu or some sort of stomach virus. Could even be food poisoning.”

“I’m fine,” Gemma snaps. “and you worry too much. I’m fine, really, baby. And I promise, I’ll take a load off tomorrow. I’ll stay in and rest.”

“You promise?”

“I swear it,” she vows, giving his hand a light squeeze.

* * *

Of course, Gemma should never trust Clay to leave well enough alone - he was too involved, and he worried too much about her. He leaves early that morning after receiving a call about a shootout that happened by the center of the city, so she doesn’t have to worry about him shadowing her for the rest of the day. But she should’ve known he’d send someone over to check up on her - it doesn’t take long for her to be joined by company.

Gemma has her head in the toilet when Colleen and Luann arrive, purging from her stomach the last of the cold cereal and whiskey combination that had been her breakfast. They call her name a couple of times, and then realizing where she must be, make a beeline for the bedroom.

As expected, both women find her crouched over the toilet, breathing hard and trying to regain her energy. She’s trembling all over by the time she flushes and hugs herself, pressing her back against the bathtub. They can’t help but pity her for a moment - sitting there, tears streaming down her cheeks, trying to compose herself enough to get back up.

“How many times since he left this morning?” Colleen asks, leaning in the doorway. Gemma looks up at her, her wide hazel eyes still red with tears and shakes her head.

“Twice. I can’t keep anything down. It’s bullshit,” she sighs, running a trembling hand through her  blonde and black hair. Luann looks around the bathroom before glancing warily back at her best friend, her ice blue eyes serious and determined. “No, Lu. I know what you’re thinking.”

“Maybe there’s something wrong-”

“Damnit, Luann, I said _no_!” Gemma snaps. Luann sobers up even more at the use of her entire name - she only used their entire names when she was pissed. But you know what? They were pissed too. They were pissed that she could be so callous about her health that she’d refuse treatment before going to see somebody that could help her.

“And _I_ said you’re going,” Luann fires back. Colleen glances between the two of them - already sensing what’s about to happen - before beginning to back away. Gemma glares hard at her best friend and stubbornly crosses her arms over her chest. A challenge. Alright then, she wanted to fight dirty - they could fight dirty. “If we have to drag you by your ankles and _walk_ all the way to the doctors, you’re _going_ to the hospital. I don’t care what you think you need.”

Luann takes a step towards her, and Gemma instinctively pushes her back against the tub. As if the tub will suddenly move to accommodate her choice of distance.

“Luann Delaney if you so much as brush your fingers against me, I _will_ rip those money-making tits off your chest,” she growls. Luann rolls her eyes and lurches forward, grabbing her by her bicep and yanking her up. Gemma tries to claw at her face and Luann stealthily moves her head away, but Gemma takes the distraction to snatch away her other arm and punch her in the nose. This forces Luann to release her, and she scurries past her to the bedroom - plopping with smug satisfaction on the bed.

“Damnit, Gemma. I’m trying to help you,” Luann grunts from the bathroom floor, hands clutched on around her nose - the bridge pinched between her index finger and her thumb, her head tilted back to stop the bleeding. She looks around, and is startled to find Colleen gone - nowhere to be seen.

“I know you are, darling,” she says. The sudden movement made her dizzy, so she curls on her side and watches her best friend with doe-like eyes. “But you know how I feel about hospitals.”

She does. Gemma watched her brother die in a hospital bed, followed by her mother. She’d watched countless SAMCRO members be carried into the emergency room - bullets lodged in some various body part, groaning and begging for morphine. Only to be carried out in body bags because there was nothing St. Thomas’ shitty employees could do - they weren’t advanced enough for some of the shit the boys had needed then. She was _not_ going to a hospital. In Gemma’s slightly twisted mind, hospitals weren’t associated with healing. They were associated with death.

“You probably have the stomach flu or maybe even food poisoning. Not some _disease_. Going to get checked out won’t be the end of the world,” Colleen pipes up. She looks up from the other side of the bed - her eyes slightly widened. She’d ran for cover when they started fighting - of course, she would evacuate the line of fire. Gemma rolls her eyes. They were going to persist at this and so would she until they ended up at a stalemate. Either that or one of them won.

“You’re right. It’s not. Except for when it _could_ be.” Luann looks at her then, understanding slowly filling her blue eyes. _Oh_. That’s why she was so afraid to go to the doctor. She was afraid they would tell her something fatal - like she had stomach cancer and three months to live or some shit like that. She was afraid that going to the doctors would lead to her own demise.

“Babe…”

“Don’t,” she sighs. “Just… don’t. You’re right. It’s just a stomach flu or food poisoning. Or some shit like that. Can we leave it there?”

“If it is… _something_. Would you really rather not know?” Colleen asks. Gemma swallows hard. She had her there. She _would_ rather know. She wouldn’t treat it of course - Unser’s dad had cancer and all he did was scream ‘sick!’ everywhere he went. She didn’t want to be bald and frail and sick-looking. She’d _just_ want to know. So she could tie up any loose ends and then just await things peacefully.

“Once again, you’re right,” she exhales. “Fine. I will go to the doctor. But we do it today and all shit is off. Before, during and after. No leaving my side, girls. I mean it - no porn shoots or whatever the fuck you do in your free time Col. If I die in there and you aren’t there with me, I’m coming back to haunt you. And SAMCRO.”

“You mean it?” Colleen drawls. Gemma barks out a laugh and Luann snickers quietly on the bathroom floor. “We’re not leavin’ you Gem. We’re not married, but we’re besties until death does us part.”

“Yeah. Unfortunately, death might come quicker than expected.”

“Stop it!”

* * *

Once at the doctor's, things go eerily solemn. No light-hearted banter, no prodding, nothing. They all make a quick stop to the emergency room - which is, unsurprisingly empty - where they explain Gemma’s situation and simultaneously get Luann’s nose treated.

Gemma is then lead to a small room - alone, much to her obvious dismay - where she has a series of strange tests done on her and asked quite a few questions - some of which even _she_ doesn’t know the answer to. Each test makes her more and more nervous and each question puts that little inkling of fear into her chest. By the time Luann and Colleen are allowed to wait with her on the results, she’s bristling with nerves and ready to jump out of her skin.

While they wait for the doctor, Gemma sits impatiently on the awkward little bed, cringing at the uncomfortable paper beneath her ass, and quietly reads the anatomy poster on the wall. Luann files at her nails, making sure they’re catlike and painstakingly sharp as she does. Colleen seems to be taken with one of the magazines on the rack, humming lightly to herself as she reads the latest Hollywood gossip.

Eventually, after what feels like eons but is really only an hour and a half, the doctor finally slips into the room. She’s cute - short, blonde, wide green eyes hidden behind a pair of bifocals. Despite her being adorable, she has something stern and motherlike about her - so Luann guesses she couldn’t be much older than thirty, maybe thirty-five tops. The younger blonde briefly wonders how hot of a pornstar she’d be, and the thought has her snickering quietly to herself.

“Alright, Mrs. Morrow, sorry for the long wait. I was waiting to receive the test results before I came in,” the doctor says, flipping through her paperwork. “I’m Dr. Thoms, and I’ll be handling your case.”

“My case of what?” Gemma asks. She blindly palms around for one of her friend’s hand until Luann offers hers up to her - leaning awkwardly across just to hold her friend’s hand. It kills her back to stretch like that, and she considers scooting her chair closer to the bed, but then Gemma gives her a death grip and all she’s thinking about is when it’ll be the right time to let go.

“You didn’t know? You’re about six weeks in.”

“What? Six weeks into _what_?” Gemma snaps, obviously done with the doctor beating around the bush. Doctor Thoms beams excitedly and leans against the door. All three women watch her lips as she counts to ten before exhaling deeply, her smile not once wavering. Luann would be nervous about that if she could think about anything else other than how much her hand hurts right now.

“Sorry. It’s just… this is my favorite part of dealing with all patients. Mrs. Morrow, I am delighted to inform you that you’re pregnant.”

“Fuck,” Gemma breathes, as soon as she hears the ‘diagnosis’. She drops Luann’s hand so that she could lean back onto her hands and looks up to the ceiling, trying desperately not curse her husband to hell for knocking her up. There were so many wrongs with this, she can’t even rake her brain into finding a right.

“Holy shit,” Luann and Colleen exclaim, both of their eyes widening in either excitement or shock.

“That’s great, babe! You’re gonna be a mommy!” Colleen continues, grinning broadly. Colleen was the only one of the three girls that looked forward to the day that her husband decided to settle down with some little tikes, and was conveniently the only one married to a man that didn’t want kids yet.

“Oh,” Dr. Thoms says, ignoring the bubbly woman and sending a worried glance to her patient. “I take it the baby wasn’t planned, then?”

“No, no it wasn’t,” Gemma admits, giving a nervous laugh. “I’m only nineteen - we live in a goddamned _apartment_. I _can’t_ have a kid yet. I can’t.”

Dr. Thoms nods in understanding and pushes her glasses up on her nose, her brows furrowing for a moment. Taking her clipboard, she sits on the small rolling stool and rolls it so that she’s directly in the middle of Gemma and her friends with her body angled towards Gemma.

“There’s no need to be distressed, ma’am,” the young girl says. “There are plenty of options out there for you. Abortion is one, although personally I don’t recommend it. With your heart condition, there is a good chance you could go into shock or have a heart attack. There’s also adoption, but that would mean carrying your child to full-term - and there’s a slim but very present chance that your baby won’t live past birth with the heart defect and then you wouldn’t be able to fulfill your promises to the adopting parents. All of these options are viable and at your disposal, but the best option is simply to go full-term with your child and raise it yourself.”

Gemma sits there for a moment, processing everything she’s hearing. The doctor was right - the best case scenario here was for her to go ahead with having and raising her child. That doesn’t mean she would automatically go with the best case scenario - she couldn’t possibly bring kids into the world that she lived in. Especially not right now - when her husband came home covered in blood every night and her biggest worry was whether or not she’d be widowed by the end of the night.

Vulnerability was liability and a baby would be a vulnerability not only to her and her husband, but the Club. There’s no doubt word that the President of SAMCRO was having a kid would spread, and then she and the child would become a prime target for their enemies. People targeted weakness, and a baby was a definite weakness.

And that’s _only_ if the kid survived past birth. Her heart condition had run in the family for a long time - most women in her family had one or two children that died to it. Nathaniel had been the child that succumbed to it for her mother. And her grandmother had two twin boys that died at the same time due to the disease. It was no secret what happened to Madock women and babies. She couldn’t let a kid live in the constant fear of whether or not it’s condition was going to act up and it was going to die in a few days. She’d gone eighteen years of her life wondering why the hell her ancestors did it - why her _mother_ did it. She wouldn’t - no she _couldn’t_ \- allow any child to wonder that as well.

“A baby,” Luann breathes from beside the doctor drawing her out of her thoughts. Gemma looks to her, her eyebrow quirked slightly.

“It’s not safe, Lu. I can’t do that to Clay… I can’t do that to myself,” she admits weakly.

“It’s not-” Colleen cuts herself off, warily glancing at the doctor. “Can we have a moment?”

“Of course you can,” Dr. Thoms says, standing and pushing the stool back to where it was originally sitting. “I have a few other patients to tend to, so I’ll be back in about thirty minutes. When I return, I’ll bring your prescription for prenatal vitamins and a pamphlet for safe mothering along. I also have a few questions to ask, so I’ll have to bring the paperwork for that as well. Just to let you all know, I’ll be your doctor for the duration of Gemma’s pregnancy.”

The trio of girls simultaneously thank the doctor, and she smiles warmly at them before gathering her clipboard and slipping out of the room. Luann and Colleen wait until the door is firmly closed before they turn to glare at their best friend.

“It’s _not_ going to die, Gemma,” Colleen soothes. “It’ll be fine. You know we’ll do everything in our power to keep them safe - not just me, and Lu, and Clay, but everyone in SAMCRO and at the Clubhouse. This kid will be their _life_.”

“That is _only_ if it makes it past birth. Or have you already forgotten about the hole in my heart?” she asks rhetorically. “I cannot - in good conscience - bring an infant into the world.”

“Then screw your conscience and think about Clay,” Luann snaps, fed up with her pessimistic attitude for the day. She’d taken as much of it as possible because she knew Gemma had a natural fear of hospitals and also because she knew what it was like to have a fluctuating hormonal imbalance. But now she’s looking for Gemma to have at least _some_ optimism. “What if he wants a child? You really going to take that away from him?”

Gemma pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, worrying the soft flesh there. The blonde had an extremely good point - both she and her husband may still be young, but that didn’t mean they didn’t want a family. They’d had the discussion a handful of times - once after he proposed, a few times after their wedding, and a couple more times after their friend’s weddings. At first, she’d made him wait until she was _sure_ she wouldn’t be a bridesmaid again - she didn’t want to look fat and swollen while all her friends looked drop dead gorgeous in the designer gowns - and now she had decided to make him wait until she was at _least_ twenty-five. After all, she was still a teen _technically_. She wanted to live a little first.

But… she could see the _eagerness_ in her husband’s eyes. She could see the way he lit up around her Colleen’s abundance of nieces and nephews, or the way his eyes strayed a little too long when he saw a four-wheeled pram rolling down the sidewalks. Gemma knows in her heart of hearts that he’ll be overjoyed when he hears the news, and the thought that she’d even _briefly_ considered adoption or _abortion…_ that would crush him.

Even despite the chance their enemies would take advantage of the baby, use it as a playing chip in some sort of game… or that they might not even be parents for more than a handful of hours past birth. Clay would want to try. She knows that Clay wouldn’t give up until the last breath left that poor kid’s body - and maybe not even then. And now, thinking about it, she feels guilty for not even giving the child a chance.

Blinking away tears that had begun to brim in her eyelids, Gemma gives a small smile before saying, “C’mon. My husband needs to know he’s gonna be a different type of daddy.”


	2. Annoucements

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jenna M. commented and said that we should see Clay's reaction. Well, I got to writing and it turned into something a little bit different, but thanks to you, Jenna M - we have a part two c:

**Clarence 'Clay' Morrow  
Part II**

“ _... Hi, you’ve got my voicemail. If it’s important, try me again or try my husband. If it’s not, just leave a message_.” Clay curses loudly for the umpteenth time that day, slamming the Clubhouse phone back onto the hook. He’d been trying Gemma’s cellphone _all day_ \- on both of his cellphones, his friends phones, the Clubhouse and the Trager-Morrow landlines. Every time it went straight to voicemail - sometimes he’d leave one, sometimes he wouldn’t.

He’d bent over backwards all afternoon - which was quickly dripping into the evening - trying to find her - but she had simply vanished on him. According to Luann and Colleen - she wasn’t with them. She wasn’t at the apartment, she wasn’t at the nail salon or getting her hair touched up… there wasn’t very many places she liked hang out at besides the Clubhouse and Trager-Morrow. It was like she fell off the earth.

Clay boots wear into the hardwood floors of the Clubhouse as he paces and tries her again on his cell - desperate for her to pick up. He’d been reluctant to leave her that morning, because it was clear she was sick and he wanted to be home to look after her - but his brothers needed him. There had been so much blood, so many injured… he’d been kept busy, doing what he can to salvage his soldiers. He’d tried calling and checking up on her in the morning, but hadn’t been worried when she hadn’t picked up before - when Gemma was sick, she tended to sleep a lot.

“ _... Hi, you’ve got my voicemail. If it’s important, try me again or try my husband. If it’s not, just leave a message_.”

Another stream of obscenities leave his mouth. Tig and Otto had seen how out of it he was with worry over his wife, so they each sent their wives over - Luann had to leave her assistant director in charge of filming for the day, and Colleen had to abandon her yoga classes with her co-instructor, but they did as told. That has eased his mind a bit until he could get some more free time, but when he talked to both girls recently, they said last they saw - Gemma was fine. She was sitting in bed, eating cold cereal, drinking liquor and watching the trashy daytime television that came on in the morning. That _sounded_ like something a sick Gemma would do - daytime television was her guilty pleasure.

“ _... Hi, you’ve got my voicemail. If it’s important, try me again or try my husband. If it’s not, just leave a message_.”

Clay tosses the prepaid phone across the room, watching it shatter against the wall. He’s breathing hard now - angry with himself for letting her out of his sight, angry with the Mayans for being such a fucking distraction, angry with-

“Hey, hey, look - it’s Colleen’s truck. She’ll know where to find Gemma,” Tig says, peering through the Clubhouse curtains. Like Clay, he’s covered in the sticky of both of the Otto’s, Piney’s and the prospects, Horowitz’ blood. All of the members that were able to stand on two solid feet were covered in their brother's’ blood - they’d all pitched in to help Chibs save their friend’s lives.

Clay continues pacing - knowing that if he went out and attacked Colleen with shouting and interrogations, with all the raised tensions that had been up that day, he’d get into a fight with her husband. Tig slumps down into the leather couch in front of the curtain, staring at his best friend.

“You think… the Mayans…?”

“Don’t you fucking _dare_ ,” Clay snarls, glaring hard at Tig. He wouldn’t consider it. If the Mayans had anything to do with something happening to his wife, he would not only mow their California charters over - he would mow the entire, international MC over. He wouldn’t stop until it was taboo to even whisper the word ‘Mayan’.

He whips around just as the Clubhouse door is pushed open, and is surprised to find Gemma at the very front of the trio of girls - smiling warmly, . He takes her in - assessing her body for cuts, bruises, blood, anything that might give way to the notion that she was in danger. But she’s fine - she even looks less _sick_ than she did earlier. He breathes a sigh of relief and rushes towards her, framing her face with his bloodied hands and kissing her breathless.

Gemma pulls away, shock and worry in her hazel eyes. She does the same thing he had done - assesses him. He’s covered from head-to-toe in blood and grime - it’s stained on his face, filthing with cuts he may have received from a scuffle he’d gotten into with the President. His shirt and jeans are soaked in his friend’s, enemies, and even some of his own blood - his cut long since discarded so that it would survive the blood spray, knives, and dirt. And of course his boots are caked with it.

What has her freaking out is his hands. Up until twenty minutes ago, Clay had been elbow deep in a wound Otto had acquired during the fight - a bullet wound on his thigh that had begun spurting blood and wouldn’t stop. Clay had been working as a stopper while simultaneously digging the slug out of his thigh. His arms were covered in the man’s blood, but he’d put a prospect on the job of stopping the blood while he came to search for his wife.

“What the fuck? Are you hurt?” she asks, trying to pull away.

“I’m fine, right now. There are guys who have it much worse. What about you - why haven’t you been answering my calls? Huh?” he demands. “If you’re mad at me, that’s fine, but you need to stay in touch with someone-”

“I wanted to surprise you,” she blurts. Clay frowns - surprise? What could she surprise him with right now that he could need? Or at least, in front of their friends?

He turns to look to Colleen and Luann for explanation, but they’re both distracted. Luann is disappearing down the hallway - guided by a newly patched in member by the name of Newt. He makes a mental note to catch up with her later - explain what’s happening, see if she knows any connections at St. Thomas that would be willing to help him and a few others out.

Gemma pulls away from him and Clay’s hands fall limply to their sides - not knowing what to do now that he had gotten her back. He wasn’t busy working with Otto, and he wasn’t busy looking for her. He could relax - things were still extremely shitty, but they weren’t as shitty as they had been ten minutes ago.

She digs around in her purse for a little while before coming up with a slip of paperwork. She examines the paper with a small, faint smile before handing it over to him.

“I can’t get a picture for another six weeks so I got the next best thing,” she adds, before releasing her grip on the paper. Clay stares at her for a few moments longer - there’s blood smeared on each of her cheeks, but she’s still his Gem - before glancing down at the photo.

For a moment, the words blur together and he has to blink rapidly to get them to focus. When they do, the words hit him like a ton of rocks. It’s the test results of a blood pregnancy test that was given at St. Thomas. The paper gives a general rundown of the pregnancy - six weeks in, so far healthy pregnancy, single infant. Each word makes Clay’s chest constrict. Gemma’s signature at the very top of the paper, where the mother was to put her name. Clay’s name is written in her handwriting, above the father ‘blank’. At the top, right hand corner - that day’s date.

“You’re pregnant?” he asks, blinking rapidly at the paper. Gemma nods her head and when he looks up at her, she’s chewing on her bottom lip nervously. “Gemma…”

She opens her mouth to say something, but whatever it is goes unsaid because of her general shock. Clay falls to his knees in front of her, his bloodied hands running over the fabric of her t-shirt repeatedly. He stains the shirt, of course - his red handprints opaque against the white cloth of her blouse. But he doesn’t care about ruining her shirt - he presses his ear against her stomach through the material, desperately hoping for the slightest hint of life.

“Is it a boy or a girl?” he asks tenderly, not daring to move an inch. He can feel Gemma’s nails against scalp as her fingers run through the sweaty tendrils of his hair, and for that instant - the world disappears. It’s just him and his wife - sharing a moment that they might never forget.

“I don’t know for sure yet,” she replies, her voice honey sweet to his ears. “but I think it’s a boy. I’ve already named him, too - Jackson.”

Clay peers up at her, and it delighted to find that she’s beaming - her eyes are twinkling and slightly glassy, and her lips are stretched into a smile that he’s sure he’s matching.

“I love you, you know that right?” he asks, before turning back to her stomach. “I love you _both_.”

The world comes back in then, interrupting and spoiling the moment. Newt touches Clay on the shoulder - drawing his attention away from Gemma.

“Clay, Luann’s got a doctor friend up at the hospital - Doctor Remus Manning,” the prospect says, and he’s breathing hard. When Clay rises to his feet, he notices three fresh claw marks on Newt’s cheek and realizes that the poor kid must’ve been the object of Luann’s wrath. “She says she knows him because he’s known for buying his DVDs directly from the actress.”

Newt’s cheeks burn, and he clears his throat awkwardly after. He had only been prospecting a few months - he still didn’t know if he was allowed to refer to Luann’s porn business, or the days when she made videos.

“What does he specialize in?”

“He’s an andrologist, but he knows how to do operations - he used to do snuff operations for her director, Caruso,” Newt informs. “Do you want me to give her the okay to call him?”

Clay spares a glance to Gemma, and she places her hands on his shoulder.

“Baby, I’m sorry-” he begins, but she swallows the apologies with a kiss. It’s a tender, warm kiss, and Clay’s heart skips a few beats during it. When she pulls away, there’s a gentle yet firm expression of determination on her face, and she gives him an encouraging smile.

“Handle your business, baby. They need you. We can talk later.”

Clay nods, although he’s still reluctant to leave her. He gives her another kiss on the lips - although it’s more of a peck, brief and chaste - before pulling and glancing down to her stomach. He places a hand over the cloth there, and she covers his hands with hers.

“See you later, Jax,” he whispers, before turning and following Newt down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gemma is STILL a little nervous about having Jackson, but think of it - it's in Clay's pov. If there was any nerves about her, he wouldn't have noticed them right away. Especially if he's distracted.

**Author's Note:**

> The timeline is wacky af - in canon the 'shit with the Mayans' started up after John Teller's death, but in this verse it started a year after the Club's establishment. Idk.
> 
> Also - I know it's canon that Gemma ALWAYS wanted this huge family with all these babies and such. But I wanted to dabble elsewhere. I also could not for the life of me write her like that.


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